Crystal Lake Campground had been a delight—lovely hosts, immaculate grounds, and laundry facilities so good I briefly considered moving in permanently. Yes, the trains were close enough to rattle my molars, and the whistle blasts only stopped making me jump after several passes, but overall it was a thoroughly good experience.
Before hitting the road for our long drive, we decided to try the campground’s private hiking trail. It wound through the woods, skirting the lake while two loons provided the soundtrack. It was idyllic… except for the flies and mosquitoes, who were clearly hosting their own family reunion. Still—no ticks. Hooray! After the Saskatchewan incident, where a dozen ticks attempted to colonize my pant legs, I was relieved.
The drive afterward was long and, well… let’s call it “meditative.” Kilometer after kilometer of short, browning pines that looked like they were slowly pining away. Yes, I went there.
Eventually we rolled into Thunder Bay and set up at Trowbridge Falls Campground. Despite the abundance of trees, it didn’t charm me immediately. I’m not entirely sure why—possibly because I was being a bit snobby about the behaviour of our fellow campers. There are levels of campground etiquette, and I suspect mine and theirs were not playing in the same league.
After a quick grocery run, we returned to the trailer for a very late supper. And that’s when the day took a turn. Joe managed to stab his thumb with a kitchen knife—an injury dramatic enough to require a fast dash to emergency. Three stitches later, plus an appointment for Tuesday because it appears he may have cut the tendon, we now find ourselves staying in Thunder Bay until Wednesday. A hand‑specialist orthopaedic surgeon will take a look and, hopefully, stitch things back together. Meanwhile, we are rearranging plans.
About the Author
